


Karakuri Ningyō

by Elizabeth Tudor (Liz_Tudor)



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Asshole Jigen, Crime Lord Lupin, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone is pretty messed up in this one, F/M, Gen, Hurt, I am so sorry, Internalized blame, Isolation, Jealous behavior, Jigen abuse, M/M, Mind the Tags, Not necessarily noncon but not healthy either, Organized Crime, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Questioning Sanity, References to OT4 fluff in some other continuity, Sexual Abuse, Sociopathic Lupin, Some comfort but it's purely manipulative, The Lupin Syndicate, Things gone wrong, Victim Blaming, no happy ending, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Tudor/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Tudor
Summary: The Lupin Syndicate is one of the largest and most powerful criminal empires in the world, and Jigen knowsexactlyhow lucky he is, to be Lupin's right-hand man, and even more than that. Sure, the risks of the job might be high, but so are the rewards, and Jigen has respect, an important position, money, even a boss who values him - everything he could want, right?...Right.Mind the tags.





	Karakuri Ningyō

**Author's Note:**

> If I’m picking a song for this atrocity… Let’s be stereotypical as hell, and go for ‘Hurt.’ Either the Nine Inch Nails original, or the Johnny Cash cover, as you prefer. 'Painkiller,' by Spirit Animal, was also introduced to me as fitting this fic, and does it ever.

"When I was a prince, I had ten slaves, and I knew their names and their dreams; each of them was precious to me. When I was an emperor, I had a thousand slaves, and there was not a single one among them whose death would have troubled me."

~Gilgamesh, Fate/Zero (*)

****************************************************************************************************************************************************

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK_

The kid wasn't supposed to be here. No one mentioned anything about a kid. Why, fuck, _why_ was the kid here?

Jigen hesitated for a split second only, but that was enough. His target, eyes darting like the cornered beast he was, threw himself around the bend of the hall, yanking the kid with him. In the pounding seconds (_two one count them_) it took Jigen to round the corner after him, they were out the window and lunging down the fire escape.

He trailed his sights across the pair of backs, struggling to line up a shot through the tangled mass of steel obscuring them, but only an inhale after he'd reached the window, they’d gained the safety of a brick alley. He snarled, stowing his magnum back in his belt. His target knew he was coming now, would go to ground; he would track him, of course, but that would take time, too much time, and he'd been ordered to report back before nightfall.

He'd screwed up, badly.

The marksman stalked back through the building's lobby, past the four bodies he'd left there less than ten minutes earlier. Eliminate the target, and deal with anyone who got in the way, those were his orders, and he'd followed them precisely, right up until he'd seen the child. Damn lot of good it had done for him, or these sorry fucks. A very small part of himself was relieved, that the kid had gotten away alongside the target, and he wouldn't have to find out whether he'd follow orders even to the point of shooting a child. The much, much larger part, though, was deeply dreading having to tell the boss that he'd failed.

**************************************************************

Jigen was sick to his stomach of staring at the office door. He had memorized every centimeter of it, every chip and every detail in the carving, every fingerprint and smudge on the brass knob. He was certain he'd have been able to pick that one door out a lineup of dozens from the same manufacturer. He very, very badly wanted the door to open, for it to be his turn in front of the boss, but he was dreading it too. This was _not _going to be a pleasant meeting.

God, most of all, he just wanted this to be over with, one way or another.

The waiting was the worst part, the anticipation of it, curdling his stomach with everything that could go wrong, or, hell, might've gone wrong already. How much of it did he know already? How much would he get to explain? He did his best to ignore the Suits stationed in discreet corners of the room, smirking at him. They had to know he'd screwed up, and they reveled in it, but their opinions didn't actually matter; they weren't worth his notice. The only person he needed to worry about was the boss.

Finally, finally, the door opened, and one of the bodyguards for the day called him in. Jigen had seen this one around before. The guy’s name was Henrique, or Henri, something generic and vaguely European and forgettable, just like the man himself. The fact that he was turning into a familiar face meant that he might be problematic, though. Jigen would have to keep an eye on him.

That thought was lost as he found himself in front of his boss.

Lupin dismissed the guards back into the foyer, leaving him alone with Jigen, and then proceeded to ignore the gunman, double-checking things between the laptop and the stack of papers on the ebony desk in front of him. Jigen was left standing there on the tiger skin rug, feeling like a guilty child in front of the headmaster, waiting for Lupin to decide he was worth his notice. He tried to distract himself by studying the pattern of gold and sable stripes under his feet, keeping his boss in his peripheral vision.

That rug always made him a little uncomfortable. He’d seen a wild tiger, once, when he was on a stakeout in northern Rajasthan. There was a frozen moment strung tense as piano wire, as the amber stripes resolved themselves out of the scrubby brushland and he realized what it was that he was seeing. The tiger, no more than a few meters away from him, had blinked impassive golden eyes, examining him without hurry or fear before turning and loping away, a song given feet. It had been an imperial and splendid creature, dangerous, more dangerous than he would ever be, and all the more beautiful for it. It felt wrong in a way that he couldn’t quite articulate, to be standing on one with shoes that had trudged through the filth of the city outside.

No matter how beautiful the fur rug though, he kept finding his eyes darting back to Lupin. His boss. His lover. It felt…unsafe, to not have him in his line of sight.

The thief sighed and pushed the laptop aside, picking up his phone instead, impatience in the tense play of his fingers over the brittle plastic casing, and Jigen felt his stomach clench. It was the same weight of tension in his belly every time he was face to face with Lupin, knotting his intestines, although whether it would shift higher, freezing the motion of his heart and squeezing the breath out of him, or lower, settling as a burning, desperate ache in his groin, was entirely dependent on the whims and moods of his boss.

At last, at long last, Lupin set the pen down, thumbed off his phone, and leveled a searing, searching gaze at Jigen. The marksman struggled not to blink.

“So. You failed.”

_Fuck. _He knew already.

Of course he knew. But Jigen had been hoping to be able to spin this a little. So much for that.

Maybe, _maybe_ he’d be in a tolerant mood.

“I can only hope," Lupin frowned, "that you didn’t let him go on _purpose._ Your old friends do have a habit of turning up at the worst times. Maybe this one reminded you of some debt you owed him, hmmm?”

“Wha…of course not!” the gunman exclaimed, before realizing he’d spoken out of turn. Better that his boss was angry with him for that though, than think he was a traitor. “I’d never sabotage one of our contracts!”

“So it was an accident, then, and you’re incompetent.”

"I tracked him as far as the west side before I had to come back," he tried to justify. "I have contacts in that area, I'll find him._"_

“And why should I let you do that, when you fumbled it once already?” Lupin challenged, clearly displeased.

“I know the neighborhood he’s heading for. I can find him.”

“So you say,” his boss glowered, “but I don’t have any guarantee of that besides your word. Why should I believe you?”

Jigen took a few deep, gulping breaths, struggling to calm himself through the fear that threatened to choke him. He had to be succinct, or Lupin wouldn’t listen.

“I know I slipped up. Someth…something happened,” he gulped. Explaining about the kid wouldn’t do any good. “But it won’t happen again. I’m still the best man for this job, I know this city, I know where he’s likely to be. _Let me finish this._”

The look Lupin gave him was withering, and Jigen knew his boss well enough to read it, clear as daybreak. _You’re a professional. Or you’re supposed to be. There’s no excuse for getting distracted._

"No,” the thief decided abruptly, snapping his laptop closed. “You tried, and you let him get away. I'll have to send Ishikawa to clean up your mess," Lupin told him archly, his perfectly groomed eyebrows rising disapprovingly.

Jigen didn't dare answer back, but his hands clenched themselves into fists despite all he could do, fingernails digging bloodless crescents into his calloused palms. _Send that snooty, pretentious samurai after **his** target? **His** job from Lupin? Like hell he'd let that uptight little shit steal the credit for it!_

"I was surprised." He found his voice at last. "It _won't_ happen again. Let me fix this. Please," he added. Quite apart from the blow to his professional pride and his loathing for Ishikawa, this job was worth a quarter million. Whoever Lupin had accepted the contract from wanted this guy dead pretty badly.

"You're right that it won't happen again," Lupin informed him, his voice silk and scalpels and blistering cold. "Because Ishikawa will deal with it. _He_ hasn't failed."

And at that, the pressure in the pit of his stomach twisted into a hard, cold knot, settling somewhere behind his sternum, choking off his breath. So that was it, then. He really wouldn’t get a second chance. Lupin was angry enough that he wouldn't be able to get out of this one, and he was going to be punished, one way or another.

"Sometimes I wonder why I bother keeping you," the thief sighed, not quite to himself. He was staring straight past Jigen as though he wasn't there, and the gunman felt the knot in his chest freeze into a tight ball of fear.

If Lupin decided he wasn't worth the effort of keeping, the best he'd be able to hope for was being demoted back down the ranks of the syndicate that he'd risen through. Instead of being one of Lupin's most trusted lieutenants, one of the only three who were allowed to follow Lupin everywhere and live at their headquarters, he'd be shuffled back into the ranks of expendable bodyguards and errand boys and cannon fodder. The Stuffed Suits, as he thought of them, all of them desperately trying to prove they were worth the promotion.

To be left surrounded by inferior stooges, all jockeying for his vacated position and mocking him for losing it, summoned only occasionally as the boss needed him, to not to be able to be near Lupin... That would be painful enough, but even that would be a mercy, to be allowed to stay in the organization at all. The last member of the inner circle who'd been kicked out of the gang entirely...had not survived more than a few days. Jigen had not liked Brad, or his ego or his machismo or his terrible fashion sense, but his end had been grisly enough that even he had mustered some nauseated sympathy.

Even if he hadn't needed to worry about being a target as soon as he left the protection of Lupin's syndicate - it would've meant leaving Lupin, too. Losing him. And that thought was as painful as the idea of a lingering death at the hands of one of his boss's many, many enemies.

That _could not happen._ Anything that might persuade Lupin to let him stay, anything his boss demanded of him, he would do.

Silently, Lupin stood, and opened the door behind his desk. It looked perfectly innocuous, and if you were unfamiliar with the room, you might have assumed it was the door to a coat closet, or a small bathroom. It wasn't.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, without so much as glancing at Jigen. “I’ll have to send Ishikawa out quickly, if he’s to fix your blunder.”

The master thief didn't bother looking to see if Jigen was following as he started down the stairs. He knew the marksman was too loyal - and too smart - to attempt to run. He wouldn't have made it out of the building.

Jigen could feel the chill of the air on his hands and throat as he followed his boss’s descent. He hadn’t been into this room yet, not at this particular headquarters, but he knew pretty much what to expect. There was one at every base of operations, there for when someone tried to sell them out, or a would-be hitman decided to make a name for himself by killing Lupin. The room usually (_hopefully)_ wouldn’t see much use; Lupin’s gang was renowned for a reason, and the thief ran a tight ship. But it was there, just in case, for when it was needed.

The basement was left rough, poured concrete and coarse plywood, with several very, very sturdy pipes running the length of the low ceiling and spidering up the walls. The uneven, decades-old concrete floor made the lights look even more out of place: buzzing magnesium-bright LED strip lights strung above the pipes, that had clearly been installed recently. Other than the added lights, there wasn’t much there. There were a few shelves along one wall that held kitchen knives, hedge clippers. A bottle of bleach. A cheap taser bought off Amazon. Coils of rope. A pair of pliers with faded red plastic handles. A few sets of handcuffs, discreetly tucked into an empty shoebox. All innocuous household objects, things that could be explained away.

Jigen didn't have to worry about any of those being used on him - Lupin wouldn't risk damaging his dexterity or his usefulness, and when it came to members of his own crew, the thief preferred a deft touch. Those were only for traitors and outside enemies, cases where they needed information quickly and didn’t really care about keeping the source of it intact. That thought wasn't a comfort though. There was plenty that his boss could do that wouldn't leave any marks or long-term effects, and there were more types of pain than just physical.

Lupin stopped in the center of the bare room, and finally, finally turned to look at him. One side of his mouth was twisted with distaste.

"Strip."

Dread aching in the pit of his stomach, Jigen obeyed, shucking off his jacket, loosening his tie and stooping to unlace his shoes. There was a soft hiss of leather as he unfastened his belt, adding his slacks to the pile of clothing and shivering in just his boxers. Lupin quirked an eyebrow, no trace of a smile on his narrow face, and Jigen reluctantly pulled those off too, finally sinking to his knees when his boss gestured at the floor.

He struggled to stay still while Lupin paced a slow circle around him, pausing, at last, behind his right shoulder, out of sight. Even if he couldn't see him, Jigen could _feel_ him there. Lupin's presence was unmistakable.

He was naked and kneeling, and in other circumstances, with other people, that would be a setup for a cheap skin flick. But that wasn't his boss's style, at least not with him. Jigen craved his attention; his absence and his disapproval were much harsher punishments than any sex or physical contact from him could be, and the master thief knew it.

Lupin's shadow trailed over his skin like water as the thief plucked the fedora off his head, and Jigen bit back an instinctive protest as he heard his boss pull the brim down low over his own eyes. _Not his hat._ But this was Lupin: without him, Jigen's life wasn't worth his spent bullet casings, and the protest died unspoken, choked back into a tight, anxious knot in his throat. His knees were beginning to ache.

A calloused, long-fingered hand twisted in his hair without warning, yanking him forward, and Jigen only just caught himself before falling face first into the floor, scraping his palms and knees on the concrete. Before he had time to adjust, he could feel the smooth leather of Lupin's loafer, nudging his legs farther apart and his hands farther forward, while the chill air prickled uncomfortably against his clammy skin. Finally, Lupin seemed satisfied with his position, took a step back to survey his marksman on his hands and knees.

"Stay."

He didn't snap. His voice was absolutely flat, and as cold as the concrete the gunman was kneeling on.

That was worse than if he'd been angry. If he was angry, he cared. Flat and disappointed like this, there was no way of knowing how close he was to cutting Jigen loose, deciding that the gunman was too much trouble, too unreliable, to be worth keeping. The thought was unbearable. Without Lupin, he was worth nothing, and cared about by no one. So he held himself perfectly still, fought the urge to turn and look as he heard his boss's footsteps tap out a receding staccato beat. Lupin told him to stay here, so stay he would, until Lupin came and got him and _(please, **please**)_ told him he was forgiven.

The low creak of old wooden steps, slowly rising in pitch like an out-of-tune piano scale, as Lupin climbed back to his office. Jigen stared hard at the dusty grey of the concrete floor between his hands.

He'd fucked up. He deserved this. This was what Lupin wanted, this was what it took to atone, he'd do it.

There was the muted click of a light switch as Lupin reached the top, and darkness fell upon the room like a bird of prey.

Jigen stared into the blackness that wrapped around his eyes like a silk scarf, trying to pry out the outlines of the shelves, or the faint threads of light from under the door, but there was nothing. After a few moments of failing to find anything to focus on, his eyes started sending back ghost images, flickers of red and blobs of writhing grey that made him feel like the floor was tilting under him, threatening to tip him into a corner of the room. So he closed his eyes.

He was already uncomfortable, every pebble of the poorly poured flooring digging into his palms and the chill of the basement air dancing along his skin, flirting, waiting to sink its teeth into his warmth and devour it. But he had no idea how long it would be until Lupin came and got him. Even if he was stupid enough to try to disobey his orders, that innocent-looking door was steel-plated, locked in ways that only the boss knew. There was no way out of this basement without Lupin's granting it.

_Focus on something else, or you’ll drive yourself crazy._

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since Lupin had left, ten or fifteen at most. He wondered where his target was now, whether Ishikawa had already been sent out in pursuit. As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t really keep himself from wondering what Lupin might be doing; whether he was still upstairs working, separated only by that locked steel door, whether his boss would spare a thought for him, whether the thief might spend the evening with Mine, since Ishikawa was gone and he was stuck down here…

As useless as he knew the gesture was, that thought made his jaw clench, teeth grinding over each other with the gritting protest of cracking enamel. He couldn't fucking stand either of them, and the thought of Ishikawa taking his job and Mine taking his time with Lupin was enough to make his vision go hot and red and blurry.

Jigen wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could actually satisfy Lupin completely, command all of his time and attention, but he was selfish enough to _wish _that he could. His boss ran one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world, and virtually anyone he wanted was his for the asking, Jigen absolutely included. There was no question that Lupin would have multiple lovers, and Jigen knew he ought to just count himself lucky that he got to be one of them…but he couldn’t help resenting that Mine was one of the others.

Maybe it was the fact that they were the only two that Lupin kept around. Most of the others were pretty, glossy, doe-eyed little things that the boss would get tired of within a day or two, all sparkle and no substance, like cheap jewelry – and if any of them did pluck up the nerve to try and leverage their position into something more permanent, then a few smiled threats when Lupin wasn’t looking, about what had happened to the last girls who’d displeased the boss, usually made them skittish and teary enough that Lupin would lose patience and drop them like the disposable distractions they were. Jigen was _not_ sharing with anyone that he didn’t absolutely have to.

Mine, though, refused to be intimidated or scared away, much to his fury. She was a pretty, expendable little toy just like every other bimbo the boss brought home, but she refused to follow the same script, had somehow managed to stick around long past the point when Lupin usually lost interest. Moreover, she actually had the audacity to pretend to be a competent career criminal in her own right, instead of the backstabbing leech she was, profiting off of other people's hard work with an infuriating air of haughtiness. Something about her just made his teeth grind.

If the opportunity ever came up to leave her behind, or better still, put a bullet or two in her himself and make it look like the work of a rival gang, he’d be delighted. He would have to be so, so careful how he went about that though. There was no question that Lupin would kill him, if he found out that Jigen was responsible. That kind of betrayal wouldn’t be tolerated. Not against one of their own, no matter how much she deserved it. In the meantime, he’d grit his teeth and keep his eyes open for a chance to get rid of her. She had to fuck up on the job at some point, if he was just patient enough.

Getting rid of Ishikawa would be harder. Jigen had taken a few shots at him, before Lupin had decided to take the samurai into the gang, and he'd dodged or cut through the bullets as though Jigen was throwing rubber balls. Shooting him was clearly out. He'd have to be more subtle. Maybe see if he could convince Lupin that the swordsman was a spy, or a security risk. Hell, with how silent and sullen the guy was, it might even be true. It wasn't like Ishikawa never screwed up either; he got the occasional punishment from Lupin. Jigen would just have to see if the next time, he could plant the idea that the fuck-up might not have been accidental.

The thought of finally being rid of both of them brought with it a low, warm glow of satisfaction, and against his will, Jigen felt his muscles slowly relaxing, the stress and exertion of the day catching up with him. It was an effort to shake himself awake, even with the cold beginning to sink in, but if he dozed off, he’d be right back to those stupid, godforsaken –

_\- “Dreaming of something good?” a low, musical voice asked, and he blinked himself awake, rubbing the sleep grit out of the corners of his eyes and levering himself off the sagging couch._

_“Yeah, the pile of treasure waitin’ for us once we crack the code,” he yawned. “When did you get here, Fujiko?”_

_“About half an hour ago.”_

_“No trouble?”_

_“Nah,” she smiled, hiding a yawn of her own against the back of her hand. “A few tried to follow me, but I shook them off on the Autobahn. Lupin says dinner’s ready in about ten minutes, if you’re hungry.”_

_He squinted towards the kitchen, and sure enough, a giddy blur of spotted apron and clattering pots was spinning around the small kitchen, singing off-key._

_“Jesus,” he muttered, “he was up all night jus’ like we were. Does he ever sleep?”_

_“What do you want to bet he’s holding out until one of us is in bed with him?” Mine grinned. “You know how wired he gets when we win.”_

_“If I’m in bed, I’m gonna be asleep, and Lup can deal with it,” he said firmly, but he couldn’t quite bite back a smile at the thought. “One nap doesn’t make up for three straight days of planning, pulling the job, escaping…”_

_“He’s on a roll lately,” Mine agreed. “What do you want to bet he has us out on another job in a couple days?”_

_“No bet, I like my money.”_

_“Heh,” she yawned through a smile, and squinted around the faded living room. “Any idea where Goemon is?”_

_“On the roof, I think.”_

_“I’d better go get him down,” she grumbled, but there was no fire in it. “He hasn’t eaten in a couple days either, he could use some dinner.”_

_“Goemon said he was meditating, but I bet he fell asleep,” he smirked. “Careful how you wake him u-“_

Jigen shook himself awake, biting back a hiss as the ache in his knees made itself known again. God _dammit._ That was exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. The day had been shitty enough already, he really didn’t want to have to deal with these stupid…

No. Focus on something else. Something that would distract him, keep him awake. He was too frustrated to think about Mine right now, what she might be doing with Lupin while he was stuck down here…getting rid of Ishikawa, that would work. Maybe he could try and rig one of the fights, the next time the samurai fucked up and Lupin demanded he prove his worth.

He knew it was a pipe dream only, but it was still a pleasant distraction from the darkness pressing against his eyes and the slowly building strain, as his muscles were pulled too tight and kept there. It wouldn’t matter, it was discomfort he could deal with, as long as Lupin forgave him and he kept his place in the syndicate and he could keep working on getting rid of Ishikawa and Mine and everything went back to normal.

The fights were…brutal. It was thankfully rare for Jigen to be in them; Lupin had only made him enter the fights a couple times before. Privately, he hoped that it was because he was too valuable to risk losing or damaging in the ring. Bareknuckle was the most common, but sword and knife fights were sometimes allowed, if there were enough entrants. Competitors could be particularly prized fighters that their bosses wanted to show off, or underlings who’d screwed up a few too many times and needed a lesson in just how much worse things could get for them, or men down on their luck and desperate enough that the lure of the winner’s takings outweighed the very real risk of bleeding out on the sawdust floor. That was the most usual punishment for Ishikawa, Lupin snapping, “_I took you on because you’re supposed to be the best there is. So prove it.”_ And what was remarkable was, the samurai usually did.

As much as Jigen detested Ishikawa, watching him duel was something else. He could appreciate skill even if he disliked the person wielding it, and the swordsman’s liquid grace made all of his opponents look like clumsy toddlers. Once Ishikawa had been locked in the arena with whoever was unlucky enough to be pitted against him, the fights were guaranteed to be entertaining. The gunman had taken pleasure both in watching and in betting against the samurai, privately hoping that someone would finally win and finish off the snotty little shitstain for him. Jigen knew it was a long shot, but hey, he could dream. It wasn't like he couldn't afford to lose the money he put up. It had been a nice distraction - until Lupin had found out.

The penalty for that...had been unpleasant. Lupin had sent him on an errand immediately after the fight, and when he'd returned to their base, hours later, it was to find the mansion deserted. The boss had moved the headquarters without telling him.

Jigen had had to wait in the empty house for a day and a half before Lupin finally sent a messenger to tell him where the new hideout was. Thirty-nine isolated, anxious hours. And the entire time, whenever he’d closed his eyes, he’d had those stupid. _Fucking_. Godforsaken. Dreams.

They didn’t _feel _like dreams though. That was problem. They’d have been so much easier to ignore if they had. They didn’t feel like memories either. They felt…like he was stepping into someone else’s life, seeing through their eyes. Living as another version of him. Living alongside another version of Ishikawa, and of Mine. Another version of…of Lupin, blasphemy though that was.

The dreams had started shortly after he’d been allowed into Lupin’s inner circle. They’d been astoundingly consistent: after Ishikawa had turned up in his life, he’d shown up in the dreams too, and hung on just as tenaciously as the real one. But this Ishikawa bore only a superficial resemblance to the real one. They looked the same, sure, narrow face and glossy hair, but the Other Ishikawa blushed when he talked to girls. He always added chocolate or daifuku to the shopping list. He liked cats. He was a bad liar, and a worse poet. Most bafflingly, that Ishikawa, just like the Other Lupin and Other Mine and the Other _him_, seemed to be...friends, even more than they were thieves.

They were idiots, the Lupin Gang from his dreams. He couldn't begin to count number of heists he'd seen them fumble, and they didn't even seem to care, laughing as they escaped from the police, and whatever treasure they'd been after sank into the ocean or went up in flames. Even stranger, the Other Ishikawa and Mine went by their first names, while the Other Lupin and Jigen still went by their surnames, as usual. What kind of stupid sense did that make?

If the Other Mine and Other Ishikawa were bizarre distortions of themselves though, the Other Lupin was a reflection in a carnival funhouse mirror. He wore jackets in the same prismatic array of hues as the real one, but instead of rich jewel tones, the colors were bright and gaudy. His haircut was different; it made his ears stick out. His voice was too loud, too boisterous and uncontrolled. He made breakfast for the group even though he was their boss, and ran into danger and into the doomed heists right alongside the rest of them, instead of planning the jobs and overseeing them from a discreet distance, as befit a crime lord. Weirdest of all though was the way he smiled, a dizzy jack o’lantern grin that looked much too wide for his narrow face, as though it might split the top of his head clean off. The face was one that Jigen knew better even than his own, but the expressions…those were a stranger’s.

He still hadn’t been sure what the oddest part was – just how consistently the distorted, through-a-glass-darkly cast matched the people in his own life, or that he could taste and feel every sensation in the dreams, or that he’d dreamed of nothing else for years now, returning to the same Not-Lupin Gang every time he closed his eyes. It was unsettling, but still just dreams, just warped phantasms vomited up by his own subconscious.

Then he’d noticed the real Mine looking up kennels and dog adoption websites, scowling and stowing her laptop when she caught him staring. He’d seen Ishikawa tuck a box of Pocky into his sleeve. Details that they'd happily chattered about in his dreams, but never, ever in real life.

That…that was _definitely_ the oddest part.

He'd thought about that for a good long time. If those details were true, then maybe other elements from the dreams were true too, and he was getting some kind of secret insight, into the other members of the syndicate’s inner circle. And if those details were accurate, then the relationships those other versions had; might those be plausible too? Even the dream version of himself didn’t always get along with Mine, but he and Ishikawa seemed to be pretty close friends. Was that…a thing that could actually happen, if things had gone differently?

Impossible. Stupid. That was a dream, this was real life.

But...

It had been a bad day, when he made that decision. He really missed having someone to drink with. In a moment of unforgivable feebleness, he’d decided to try.

“Hey, Ishikawa,” he’d called, as he was coming into the kitchen and the samurai had been leaving. The swordsman had paused, suspicion stamped across his thin features.

“…Yes?”

His voice almost froze in his throat, second- and triple-guessing this, but it was too late to back out, might as well try -

“The movie theater in town is showing a bunch of Kurosawa movies next weekend, if you’re interested.”

There, that should be vague enough. Not _if you want to go with me,_ just _if you’re interested._ Just letting him know, that was all, and Ishikawa could decide how he wanted to take it.

Ishikawa was easy to read; Jigen had seen the struck match flare of surprise and tentative interest flit across his face, before the offer sank in, and his expression had hardened into scorn.

“No,” he stated, and Jigen could hear the edge of contempt in his voice, "I think my time would be better devoted to training and improving my skills. Perhaps you should try doing so as well."

Jigen had recoiled, a sharp retort on his lips, but it fizzled into spent sparks when he saw Lupin standing in the doorway, lips drawn tight and one eyebrow raised. The boss did not look happy.

Lupin had still come to his bed that night. So it wasn't a real punishment. More like a warning. But he had clearly been displeased, had made it rough and almost painful, and he hadn't bothered touching Jigen at all after he'd finished. He'd left the gunman with a caution and a painfully ignored erection. The words lasted longer than the bruises did: _I'm not paying you to watch movies or make friends. Ishikawa has his job, you have yours._ But Jigen wouldn't have bothered trying again even without his boss's warning. The samurai's scorn at the offer had been a slap in the face, and as far as he was concerned, the little shit could go fuck himself with his own sword, since he was clearly walking around with it shoved up his ass anyway.

For a while after that, the dreams had been easier to ignore. They were fantasy, plain and simple. Fiction. Nonsensical musings thrown up by his own brain. Then, the dreams shifted. First Ishikawa and Mine, then him and Lupin, then him and Ishikawa, and, at last, all four of them, had made the shift from friends and partners into lovers, and he had an unwilling front-row seat to the whole show. He did his absolute damndest to ignore it, as he'd tried to ignore all the hallucinations since the stupid movie idea. But this…was harder.

Flashes of dream memory whenever he saw the rest of the group, impossible and unshakable; he _knew,_ unerringly, exactly what Ishikawa's soft lips and calloused hands felt like on his skin, how Mine yawned and curled and fell asleep after sex, warm and relaxed. That was impossible: he couldn't stand either of them any more than they could him, and if any of them fell behind while they were running for their lives, they'd be left behind. They'd deserve it for not being skilled enough to keep up, and it'd be one less share to divide out. He knew that, as surely as he knew every seam of steel on his gun. But that couldn't dissuade the ghost memories of lazy mornings spent in bed, tracing each other’s scars with fingers, lips, tongue.

He was going crazy. There was no other explanation. He was losing his mind. But that _definitely_ wouldn't be tolerated, by Lupin or anyone else. A loose cannon, a gunman who couldn't tell fact from fantasy? He'd be cut loose before he could protest, and with good reason.

So he smoked until he couldn't taste anything but nicotine and tar and drank until he felt the warmth of the alcohol under his skin, instead of the imagined caresses on it. It was a fine line, drinking away the sensations but hanging on to his speed and his accuracy. He'd gotten good at it.

Jigen deplored Ishikawa and detested Mine, in any incarnation, but he _loathed_ the dream versions of Jigen and Lupin.

_They were nothing but cheap, flawed copies,_ he fumed, when he couldn't force the sunny day memories that weren't his out of his head. _Incompetent, idiotic counterfeits. So how dare they..._

He refused to finish that thought, even to himself.

A ragged shiver raced along his spine, forcing his drifting thoughts away from the dreams and back to the present. The basement. The dark. He had no real idea how long he’d been here, at this point; it had to be a few hours at least. He was getting thirsty, the soft tissue of his throat beginning to stick to each other and tear like crepe paper, but at the same time, his bladder was painfully full and begging for release, a low, aching pressure between his hip bones. It was not a pleasant combination. And he was –

_\- sweating his ass off, the humid air so dense and hot that it was hard to tell where the boundaries of things existed anymore, where your own skin ended and the summer heat began._

_"Madrid."_

_"No way,” the Jigen-that-wasn’t groaned. “That's even hotter than here."_

_"Thailand."_

_"Did you not hear me just now?"_

_Him and Lupin and Ishikawa, sprawled out in their underwear, panting their way through a sweltering summer afternoon as they idly argued about where to go and what to steal next. It was the same apartment as before, smaller and rattier than anything the real Lupin gang would ever deign to enter, but the him in the dream didn't care. They were safe, and they were here, and he could put up with the cramped sleeping space and the stifling heat. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, settling at his temple. Ishikawa shifted, the wrapped ends of his fundoshi hanging limp._

_"Sapporo," he suggested._

_"Nothing there worth stealing, Goe."_

_"But it would be cooler."_

_A muffled thump from the door as Mine dragged herself in, sweating. She stripped off her motorcycle jacket on the way to what he knew, without thought, was her room, and emerged a moment later wearing a pair of lacy underwear and an oversized button-down that he recognized as Lupin's. Without a word, she flopped across the couch, plopping her sweaty feet in his lap, and he pulled a face at her but didn't protest._

_"St. Petersburg."_

_"What's in St. Petersburg?"_

_"I think there are still a few Faberge eggs we haven't stolen yet."_

_"...that could work.”_

_“Whaddya think, Jigen?” Lupin yawned, smiling lazily at him over the edge of the armchair he’d draped himself over. “We really pissed them off, with the coronation egg last time. Worth the risk of going back?”_

He jerked awake, panting hard, the cold prickling like fever against the flush rising in his skin, sweat chilling to a clammy slick between his shoulder blades and down his neck.

_What the hell?!_

It was stupid. _They_ were stupid, the dreams and the Not-Lupin Gang in them. He shouldn’t waste any more thought on this, they deserved his attention even less than the Suits did. The Suits at least were real, even if they were boring. The Suits who were boring and annoying and currently upstairs. Where it was warm. Where there was water. Where there was _Lupin_…

The pressure in his bladder had become more urgent, and Jigen gritted his teeth, the cold basement air hitting his parched mouth. He was _not_ going to piss himself in the dark here, like a dog left in its crate too long.

This was fine.

This was nothing he couldn’t handle.

This was worth it, if it meant Lupin forgave him and he got to keep his place in the syndicate.

But all the same, this was one of the worst punishments he’d gotten in a while.

He had really, really screwed up.

The one before this…it hadn’t been fun, sure, but nowhere near this bad. Compared to most, it had actually been pretty mild.

He couldn’t remember what he’d done, but it couldn’t have been anything too terrible, because Lupin hadn’t kicked him out of the headquarters or anything.

He’d just…ignored him. And if Lupin wouldn’t acknowledge him or speak to him, then no one else would either. For that day, it was as if he’d stopped existing.

The door to the room he’d been staying in had been bolted when he checked it, and he knew enough not to bother attempting to pick the lock. Jigen had spent the day outside, staying out of the way of everyone else’s derision, and had spent the night sitting in a far corner of the living room, trying and failing to doze off. The couch was vacant, but there was a chance that Mine or Lupin or one of that night's guards might be up late, and he hadn't dared to occupy a space that they might have wanted. If he tried to force them to acknowledge him while he was still a non-person, it could only turn ugly.

He’d still been awake when Lupin had poked his head in the next morning to ask if he wanted coffee.

And just like that, it was over, and he’d resumed his place in the gang with no further trouble.

Lupin’s penalties hurt less than most of the other gangs he’d been in, Jigen had decided over the usual breakfast meeting as the boss went over any tasks he had for them that day. Lupin’s punishments weren’t physical, never left him spitting out blood and teeth, or nursing broken bones. So really, this was an improvement. But nonetheless, it was…disconcerting.

If everyone just refused to acknowledge that you existed, sooner or later, you started to wonder too.

Still, it was better than losing fingers in the Yakuza, or, god forbid, still being in the Mafia once it got out that he wasn’t straight. Lupin might punish him, but only when he fucked up, and that certainly wasn't unique. Anywhere he went, any gang he joined, there would be consequences for failure; at least here, he could be certain that Lupin wouldn't cripple him or leave him with any injuries that wouldn't heal. Lupin valued him too much for that. Lupin valued him, period, and that alone was something new, something worth staying for.

_You sure he actually cares about you? You've been down here for a while. What if he forgot?_

Of course Lupin cared about him. Told him so, in words and by making sure he had anything he needed. For the first time in years, he had someone who gave a shit about whether he lived or died, who actually thought he was worth something. What else could he need?

_Whaddya think, Jigen? Worth the risk?_

_No. _Focus on the good stuff, he reminded himself, pushing back against the headache that was beginning to bloom behind his left temple. Lupin was intimidating – of course he was, he was one of the most powerful crime lords in the world – but he was exhilarating too, and brilliant. Jigen was unbelievably lucky, not just to be in his syndicate in the first place, but to be his right-hand man, even his lover. Here, he was respected for his skill with a gun. He had a place. And the rewards of the job weren’t bad either. He had more cash now than he could have imagined as a scrawny twelve-year-old, standing in a grocery store, clutching the handful of coins and one or two crumpled bills in his pocket and trying to calculate what he could buy or shoplift that would last him until his next windfall.

He was a lifetime and a new identity and a fortune away from that now. Hell, now, he had pretty much whatever he wanted. You could buy almost anything, if you had enough money.

_Whaddya think?_

…almost _(only counts with hand grenades)._

It was a thought that he didn’t allow to bubble to the surface often, even in the privacy of his own mind – because it was a good thing, that Lupin was his lover as well as his boss. It was a good thing that someone cared about him.

…but it made it so, so much harder too, that when things got bad (_like this?)_ he couldn’t pretend even to himself that he had the option of leaving. Running away. Changing his name again. …<strike>escaping</strike>…

No. That was the wrong way to think about it. This was the best position he was ever likely to get, and if the risks were high, well, the rewards were too, and it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d dealt with worse. He’d deal with this too. This was fine.

Jigen just wished he knew how long he’d been down here. He’d already been tired, going into this, and his internal clock had never been that reliable in the first place. It felt like a long time, long enough that fatigue was beginning to soak into his cramping limbs like a wet grey ooze, making every shift and movement an effort. He didn't feel the urgent pressure in his bladder anymore either. In a way, it was a relief, but that...really wasn't good. Your body only reabsorbed fluid it had already processed when you were badly dehydrated, and the steady pounding headache, pulsing silver behind his left eye, told him that this was going to become a problem sooner rather than later.

He just had to hold out until Lupin came back for him. Lupin wouldn't leave him here forever. He had to make it until then.

When was the last time he'd had anything to drink? Or eat? He'd had a cup of coffee before leaving on the job, and a few glasses of whiskey the night before that, but actual water? He couldn't remember. Normally he'd never bother when he could get his fluids laced with alcohol or caffeine, but right now his throat was as dry as sand, breath rasping out of him like a blade-tipped Sahara wind, and the thought of a glass of water beading with condensation was enough to make him pant through the pounding in his head. He was hungry too, he couldn't remember when he'd eaten, but the low gnawing cramp in the pit of his stomach was nothing next to the snarling, glass shards and sandpaper thirst that pounded in his skull like a taiko drum and rasped razors down his throat.

Stupid, stupid. He only had himself to blame for this. If he'd have been smarter, he'd have taken the time to eat and drink before reporting back to Lupin. He knew the kind of penalties the boss was likely to give him, he should've been better prepared.

The last time he’d fucked up badly like this, it’d been summer. He’d protested that Lupin hadn’t had a problem with Shot Shell when he’d initially taken the contract, and it would be unprofessional for him to cancel it now, but his boss hadn’t wanted to hear it. Jigen _had_ known Keith was now considered a threat to their syndicate. It wasn’t like Lupin was overreacting; he definitely had a reason to be angry. Jigen had been exiled from their latest headquarters for that one until Lupin decided what to do with him. But Lupin hadn’t wanted him wandering around loose either, not when he’d proven himself a security risk.

Staying in the yard hadn’t been as bad as being stuck in the basement. Or at least, not so uncomfortable as this was. It hadn't gotten more than a little chilly at night, and he could move around a bit, and get water from the hose, and duck behind the bushes to relieve himself. The estate they were working out of at the time had been far enough out into the country that the stars were as crisp and bright as the ones he ones he remembered from the summers spent on his grandfather’s farm as a kid, and that…that had honestly been kind of nice. Other than being hungry and the gnawing, constant stress of Lupin still being angry with him, it hadn’t actually been too bad. He just wished he knew how long it would be until he found out what Lupin had decided, whether he’d been demoted or forgiven or kicked out entirely.

A couple of times, Ishikawa or Mine had brought him food, a sandwich or a handful of protein bars. Their expressions had been twisted into disdain or distaste, and he knew they were only doing it on Lupin’s orders. He didn’t care. That meant Lupin, at least, still had him in mind, and he didn’t care what the others thought. He badly wanted to know what his eventual fate would be, but this, this was a punishment he could handle in the meantime.

At least, until he saw them leaving.

Assorted Stuffed Suits had been parading in and out, carrying enough boxes that they weren’t just leaving for the day; they were moving headquarters. Jigen had watched with mounting fear as the procession of flunkies emptied the estate of anything they cared about enough to cart to the next base, instead of just replacing. His heart beating a frantic drumroll against his ribcage, he’d watched as Lupin finally emerged, chatting easily with Mine and Ishikawa, and the three of them climbed into the old yellow SSK.

Lupin glanced at him, once, then looked away.

The panic of being left there was overwhelming, but he pushed it down, forced himself not to run after the car like a lost dog. He couldn't possibly keep up, and Lupin would leave him there for sure if he disobeyed; he'd be left wandering the streets like a stray, with no idea where they were, and no one to come for him. Shaking, he'd balled his hands on his knees, squeezed his eyes shut, and fought every instinct screaming at him to get up and run, go after them.

If Lupin wanted him, he'd come back for him. If he left, Lupin wouldn't be able to find him. If Lupin didn't want him, there was no point to anything else anyway, he’d be dead in a week. So his safest bet was to stay here.

That had been in the afternoon. It had been a night and a day and another night and on until the evening of the third day, shaking with useless anxiety and fighting down his need to _do_ something, anything, before the thief came back.

He’d been afraid, at first, that Lupin was here as a courtesy only, to tell him that he was being cut loose. The thief was just standing there, silhouetted against the distant streetlights and wearing that disappointed expression, and for a moment he felt his breath freeze, fears shifting south from _I’m fired_ to _shots fired. _Then Lupin had sighed, “Oh, Jigen,” helped him up, and helped him stumble back into the house, got the shower running while the gunman struggled out of his sweat-stiff clothes.

Lupin had returned his gun and his cellphone and made him dinner that night, and Jigen felt guilty that his stomach was still so knotted with stress, he hadn’t been able to keep down more than a few bites of it before he started feeling nauseous. His boss had been understanding though, holding him close and reassuring him that it was over, he was still in the organization, he was forgiven. They’d spent the night there before heading to the new headquarters in the morning.

That was always the best-case scenario, Jigen reminded himself, blinking away the dancing silver spots that the migraine was flicking up across his vision. Lupin would come back, if he just did as he’d been ordered and stayed here. Lupin had made it clear he valued him, he just had to prove that esteem wasn’t misplaced.

He couldn't stop licking his lips. He knew it was only making it worse, parching the dry, cracked skin even further and losing saliva in the process, but the momentary relief was enough to keep him doing it. He could feel the corners of his mouth cracking, stinging in the chill air.

God, this felt like being back in the desert, your throat so dry that every breath was painful, forced through the gauntlet of sand and spikes that you seemed to’ve swallowed. Hunger was bad, but nothing compared to thirst, that desperation you felt as your body slowly desiccated.

Jigen didn’t know how long he’d been down here.

…<strike>he didn’t know how much more of this he could take</strike>

His boss couldn’t have forgotten about him, he reminded himself, which meant that this was part of Lupin’s plan, and he wouldn’t ask Jigen to do anything impossible, anything unreasonable.

_That party…_

He forced down a shiver at the memory, but the shudder of cold that followed it caught him by surprise, rattling his spine.

_That was different_, he told himself firmly. Lupin couldn’t have known how bad that would be, had been horrified when he’d seen the shape Jigen was in afterwards. He’d even apologized, and none of the ones after had been anywhere near that bad. Next to _that_, this was fine, this was nothing he couldn’t handle, this was -

_“Wasn’t expecting to see you for at least another week,” he commented idly, as Mine dragged herself into the kitchen that morning. She looked like hell, but the Jigen in the dream either didn’t notice, or was polite enough not to tell her so._

_“Mmmmph.”_

_“Good morning to you too,” he smirked, rifling through the cupboards for the bag of coffee. “You seen my phone?”_

_“Yeah,” she groaned, making a face and shoving something across the table at him. “Unfortunately.”_

_He took it, and his eyebrows rose. The cell phone case had been decorated with rhinestones and glitter. Tiny purple gems framed out a skull and crossbones, and black and silver rhinestones made a smoking gun. The skull even had a tiny cigarette, he noticed with some amusement._

It was tacky and way too sparkly, but at least it was purple, the real him thought, and was startled to hear the dream version of him sigh, _“Well, at least it’s purple.”_

_“Of course it’s purple,” Mine yawned. “Like I’d make yours any other color.”_

Did she actually know…?

_“Fujiko…”_

_“…can you just make coffee, ‘stead of talking about this?”_

_“…I fell asleep with my phone in my pocket last night. You’re not usually suicidal enough to risk waking me up.”_

_“Mmmph.”_

_“Seriously, what happened?”_

_For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to reply, then she grumbled, “My target broke up with me this time.”_

_“Ah.” He had the tact not to add anything else._

_“She was really, **really **rich,” Mine groaned, “and her dog was great. He was a Tibetan mastiff, and he was huuuge. I really liked her dog,” she added morosely. “I was planning on dragging this one out so I could spend more time petting him. She had an amazing jewelry collection too, and I didn’t get so much as a pendant.”_

_“Soooo you stole my phone and covered it in glitter?”_

_“C’mon, Jigen,” she scoffed, “don’t act so surprised, you know drinking and crafting is better than drinking alone and being depressed.”_

_“She took mine too,” Ishikawa supplied, padding into the kitchen. He held his phone out for inspection, and Jigen saw with amusement that it had been decorated with glittery paint and rhinestones in the shape of a branch of sakura blossoms, and spangled with tiny stickers of daruma dolls._

_“Did you do mine?” Lupin grinned, leaning through the doorway. He was in his boxers, and had clearly just come from the shower; there was a towel around his shoulders and his hair was still wet._

_“Looks like,” Jigen smirked, spotting it and extracting it from under the pile of glitter glue tubes and a bag of googly eyes. Lupin’s had his signature cartoon smiley face picked out in red rhinestones and sporting a pair of googly eyes, with tiny gold gems forming a Roman numeral three in each corner. It looked a bit like a playing card, actually. Not a bad effect._

_“Gotta say, I’m surprised, Fujiko,” he teased, filling the coffee pot from the sink. “Normally you wouldn’t be willing to give away anything this shiny.”_

_Mine glared at him, mascara smudges making her look like a hungover tanuki._

_“You are frightening when you’re trying to be playful,” she glowered. “Like a leopard that thinks it’s a housecat.”_

_He could feel his eyebrows rise, and the expression the Other Jigen wore was arch, but he couldn’t feel more than faint irritation, still coupled with mildly vindictive amusement._

The real him wouldn’t have let that pass without a fight, but the Other Jigen -

_“Well fuck you too, sunshine,” he grumbled, making a show of turning away. “Maybe I won’t make coffee then.”_

_“Oh god, no, make coffee,” Mine groaned, faceplanting onto the table. “I take it back, I’m sorry. **Please** make coffee.”_

_“Well, since you said please….” His voice trailed off as he pulled the cabinet open._

_“…uh, Fujiko?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“…just how drunk were you last night?”_

_“Oh god, why?”_

_“You bedazzled the mugs too,” he informed her, bemused, letting it hang off one finger. The entire surface of the cylinder had been covered in an elaborate swirling pattern of rhinestones and jiggly eyes._

_“Very, apparently,” she sighed. “I only remember doing the phones.”_

_“…this probably isn’t dishwasher safe.”_

_“It might be, actually,” she mused, sorting through the pile of craft supplies left on the table. “Looks like I’m out of epoxy and E6000.”_

_“Is that the mug with the cats on it?” Ishikawa asked. He sounded a bit disappointed. “Why would you cover up the cats?”_

_“Ah, but Fujiko-chan thinks cats are creepy,” Lupin smiled, leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss on the top of her head. “Weird as that is.”_

More than anything else so far, the real him was astounded by the warm bloom of satisfaction his dream self felt, the pleased, unshakable sense of, 'all's right with the world.'

_“No weirder than Jigen’s thing about dentists,” she grumbled, although she looked marginally more cheerful._

She kne…? How the hell did she know about that?! _No one_ was supposed to know about that!

_“Yeah, I keep forgetting to ask, Jigen,” Lupin grinned, “what’s up with that?”_

_“None of your damn business, that’s what. They’re just creepy.” The glorious smell of strong coffee started to drift through the air as the old percolator spluttered to life, and he inhaled deeply._

_“I bet it’s from Little Shop of Horrors, isn’t it?”_

_“Again, none of your damn business,” he groused, but there was no heat to it as he poured out three mugs and put the kettle on the stove. “An’ as long as we’re talking about weird phobias, what about your thing about octopuses?”_

Lupin didn’t like octopuses…? That was potentially useful.

_Lupin pulled a face. “Octopi,” he corrected, petulant. But he accepted the mug of coffee Jigen passed him._

_“Octopodes, if you wanna be really pedantic,” Mine smirked, starting to enjoy the show. The kettle was beginning to whistle, and Ishikawa pulled out a teacup covered in whorls of glitter paint as Jigen took a deep gulp of too-strong coffee, the rich, heady brew warming him from the inside out -_

It was the shivering that woke him that time, his body shaking even past the growing exhaustion, as fatigue and cold battled to see which of them got to eat him first. The cold was winning, sinking its claws past fat and muscle, straight down to bone, and he fought to keep from shivering as his breath rasped through the razors in his lungs.

He couldn't feel his legs anymore. He couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, his knees or his arms past the dull burn of cramping muscle, but the shivering threatened to knock him off balance, and if he fell, he knew he wouldn't be able to get back into position again. And he had to stay here, when Lupin came back, he had to be obeying, and maybe, maybe it would be enough.

His head kept drooping, sleep tugging persistently at the corners of his mind, but he shook it off, stubborn. He could feel himself blinking, his eyes prickling and dry, but it was so dark, he couldn’t tell whether they were still closed or not, and the faint flickers of phantom light dancing at the edges of his vision didn’t seem to care which one it was, making it harder and harder to trust the sensations from his own body. There was a faint pulsing ringing in his ears, and he couldn’t tell whether it was the pipes above him rattling into use or an alarm going off upstairs or his own migraine spasming ghost signals across his senses, but whatever it was it needed to _stop_, it was throbbing in time with his shaking muscles and the dancing, hallucinated lights and it was eating away his increasingly tentative grip on reality and it was all just _too much_ -

_\- bright, too bright, sirens and voices shouting, and a horrible, sucking ache in his abdomen, a spike of cold drilling into him relentlessly, pushed back by spots of warmth on his chest and his shoulders and against his back –_

_"I'll draw them off." Ishikawa's voice was distressed, and when he looked at Jigen, the gunman could see the fear and worry bright in his eyes, his expression so much softer than the real Ishikawa's ever was. He felt rather than saw Lupin nod, and only then did he realize the points of warmth were his boss's hands, steadying him._

_“Fujiko went for the car,” the samurai continued, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Keep him awake.”_

_“Don’t worry,” Lupin sing-songed, as Ishikawa went tearing away, shouting curses and challenges, “Don’t worry, this is nothing we haven’t dealt with before, Jigen-chan, and Fujiko’ll be back soon and we’ll get outta here…”_

What was the point of this,_ Jigen wondered, fighting for air against the sucking ache that was pulling the breath out of him._ He wasn’t saying anything useful, and this Lupin had to know that Jigen, _his_ Jigen, was past listening.

_“…still better than last time,” Lupin chattered, cradling him, one hand deftly unknotting his tie and pressing it against the bullet hole, “remember how close Pops came on that one? But we got away, we got Goemon back safely and Fujiko managed to distract them, she’s good in a tight spot, and your sharp shooting bought us enough time…” and _was he delusional?_ Jigen was bleeding out,_ _while Lupin still kept up the pointless, crooned litany._

Then it hit him, and he couldn't believe how long it had taken. It wasn't the words; those weren't the point. It was the tone. Lupin wasn't trying to tell him anything, he was trying to comfort him with the sound of a familiar voice, keep him from panicking and injuring himself further. And it was working. He could feel this _Jigen's frantic heart rate slowing, keeping more blood in his tattered body, and his breathing was evening out._

Had anyone…ever tried to comfort him like this before? The real him. He had never been as badly injured as this - he was better than _that_, at least - but if he had been...who would be there, where this counterfeit Lupin was?

This wasn't the real Lupin, more importantly, wasn't _his_ Lupin. He had no reason to care, should despise him for having the audacity to be an inferior fake. But the face was Lupin's, even if the expressions were different. He knew that voice, even if the real Lupin would never sound that scared and uncertain. He couldn't bring himself to hate someone who was so worried about him.

_The door rattled and his boss hunched over him instinctively, arms tightening around his shoulders, trying to shelter him._ It was a stupid, useless gesture, one the real Lupin never would have made. His body couldn't stop bullets; what was the point of both of them dying?

But the warmth of the motion, of Lupin's hands on his skin, made it feel less pointless.

_“It’s me,” Mine’s voice called through the cheap plywood, and he felt Lupin relax, though he stayed bent over, protective. “Hurry up, Goemon can’t hold them forever!”_

_“Right,” Lupin called back, relief bleeding into his voice, and he stooped to pick up Jigen, and _there was warmth, a sense of heat and softness against his cold skin, and a hand stroking through his hair. It felt so close to his dream that for a moment he nuzzled against it, conscious only of having been comforted and cared about, and wanting more of it. Then a low voice crooned, “It’s all right, Jigen,” and he froze. It was the same voice as his dream, but…_not_. Too precise. Too structured.

"Wha-?"

The hand petting his hair stilled, and a moment later, he heard Lupin's voice, recognized it this time. _His_ Lupin.

"You passed out." The fingers resumed carding through the soft strands. "You've been out for a couple hours. We had to put you on an IV, get some fluids into you." His boss shifted, slightly, and Jigen realized his head was pillowed in his lap. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was a confused blur of color, the room spinning around him. "Good thing I was keeping an eye out, or I might not have found you in time. I had no idea you were that dehydrated," Lupin murmured, his voice grave. "You scared me. I wish you would take better care of yourself."

Shame flushed through him. He'd failed, again. He hadn't been able to take what should've been a simple punishment, had inconvenienced Lupin and made him worry. "Sorry," he croaked, unable to face his boss. A moment later, he felt cool lips press to his forehead in a chaste kiss.

"It’s all right,” the thief soothed. “But you're too precious to me to lose. Just take better care of yourself next time, I can't risk losing you."

He managed a nod, and felt his boss’s hands smoothing over his shoulder, his touch muffled by something so soft he could barely feel it, could only tell the faint pressure of it around his numb limbs…a blanket. He was wrapped in a blanket. He forced his eyes open again, prepared this time for the muddled whorl of color, and a moment later, he was able to focus his bleary vision enough to make out the room.

The library. They were on the couch in the library, wood-paneled and warm, with a crackling fire blazing in the grate. He could feel the heat beginning to kiss along his skin, but it hadn’t yet sunk in deep enough to stop him from shivering.

“You okay?” He could hear the concern in his boss’s voice.

“’eah.”

And he was. He still felt like he’d been dragged through hell, but he’d been right, he’d held out, Lupin hadn’t forgotten about him. He’d be fine.

"You did good," Lupin murmured, tucking the blanket around him. "You did so good. I knew you would, knew you're the only one I can really rely on, but I had to be sure. You let the target go, and I hated to hurt you, but I had to make sure you were _really_ loyal to me."

"Of course," he managed, rasping it out around the bone-dry tear in his throat, but Lupin had to know, he had to tell him - "Only to you. Always."

"I know," Lupin reassured him, petting through his hair gently, long fingers stroking over his scalp. "I know you are. You're so good."

And it was the moments like this one, that reminded him of why he was here, why he would do anything for this man. Had there been anyone before this, who would’ve bothered to stay with him?

“You’re still pretty dehydrated,” his boss muttered, leaning forward, “here,” and grabbed a bottle of water off the low coffee table. Jigen couldn’t make his hands work well enough to get the cap off, but with Lupin’s help, he managed to drink about half of it. The water was chilly and he couldn’t help the shiver as it coursed down his throat, but he couldn’t believe how sweet it tasted, what a relief it was, to finally be able to drink.

“Enough,” Lupin coaxed, “too much more and you’ll make yourself sick,” and he lay back down with a soft exhaled chuff, letting his eyes drift closed again as his boss’s hands traced along his back. He was quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the rare sense of peace and the relief of having Lupin so close. Then those thin, clever hands traced lower, dancing along his leg and squeezing his hip, and Jigen’s breath caught. His boss paused.

"No?" His voice was gentle, if surprised. Usually, Jigen would never turn down any kind of attention from him.

"I'm...I'm not sure I _can,_ right now," the gunman confessed, his cheeks tingeing pink. The prolonged stress and fatigue were still trembling through his limbs, making him shake almost as badly as the lingering cold, and his head was pounding and clouded with thirst, his blood sluggish in his veins. He wanted Lupin's attention and approval, badly. But it would take a minor miracle for him to be able to get hard at this point, and he didn't want his boss to think he was uninterested, get offended, _leave_. "If you want to though, I can get you off..." That, at least, he could still do.

"Always so blunt," Lupin chuckled, caressing his cheek. "Later. This is about you." It was an appealing prospect - he knew the marksman would submit to absolutely anything he wanted, and his cock twitched with interest at the prospect of a blowjob tinged with eager desperation, or being buried in the tight heat of his ass while Jigen groaned under him, without the bother of having to reciprocate. But Jigen was still fragile right now, and he had to spend some time first pampering him, reaffirming his devotion, putting those broken pieces together exactly the way he wanted them and shaping Jigen while he was still malleable. If it wasn't sex he wanted right now, he'd pet him and murmur sweet nothings and make him dinner, reassure him that he was important, precious, that he'd never _really_ leave him, and by the time he'd relaxed enough to fall asleep, Jigen would be ready to kill or die or bleed for him.

The Spartans had it absolutely right, he thought, making a show of ensuring that the gunman was comfortable. People would fight so much harder to protect their lover than they would their coworkers. The marksman's neediness and desperation could be exhausting, but there was no question at all of his devotion. At least it made him easy to predict and easy to control. He wasn't on par with Mine, of course, in looks or in bed, but he wasn't too bad a fuck either, and all of that touch-starved desperation could be delicious when he was scrambling to obey orders even before they left Lupin's mouth.

In general, it wasn't hard to get people to do exactly what you wanted. You needed to know what their lever was, but once you had that, it was easy. For Ishikawa, it was pride. For Mine, it was sheer greed. And for Jigen, it was affection. Being wanted, being cared about. He'd protest that he was only in it for the money, but give him a little warmth and then threaten to take it away again, and he'd do whatever you wanted.

Jigen made an effort to sit up, and Lupin quietly shushed him, but rewarded the attempt by grabbing the bottle of water off the coffee table again and holding it so that he could drink the rest. The gunman gulped down as much as he could, caught between his parching thirst and the knowledge that he’d make himself sick if he drank too quickly, and Lupin murmured pretty platitudes to him, his other hand tracing gentle circles on his shoulder.

The master thief had idly wondered how long it would take Jigen to finally pass out, and the answer turned out to be several days. The man’s stamina was impressive. Physically, anyway. Mentally, he was a mess, but that was fine. Lupin didn’t need him to be stable or happy, just obedient, and that, he was in spades.

Come to think of it, he didn’t have any projects at a critical stage right now, nothing he couldn’t coordinate by phone or email or brief meetings. Maybe he’d take a day or two, to give Jigen the bulk of his attention, make him feel special, make sure those broken pieces of his psyche got put back together in _exactly_ the arrangement he wanted. His marksman had been wavering lately; now that he’d broken him down, it couldn’t hurt to take some time to build him back up again and remind him of just why he stayed. And while Mine was beautiful, she was too clever, too combative to really be comfortable. Everything was a constant battle of wits with her, and while usually, it was thrilling, lately, it had been wearing on him. With Jigen out of the picture for a few days, she was getting overconfident. He’d figure out how to punish her for it later, but for right now, he wouldn’t mind a couple days of someone who obeyed him unquestioningly.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He’d get a day or two of uncomplicated devotion and decent sex, Jigen would get the attention and affection he was always so hungry for, and at the end of it, Jigen would have enough warm fuzzy memories, enough _hope_, to keep him here and keep him loyal, no matter what Lupin demanded of him.

That would be good. He’d enjoy that.

**Author's Note:**

> I am…so sorry for this. Quillheart and I were talking about the differences even between the different canon versions of Lupin, how the Monkey Punch manga Lupin bore very little resemblance to the Pink Jacket Lupin or the Cagliostro Lupin, and we started wondering what a truly sociopathic version would look like, one who cared more about building an empire than adventuring with his friends. Well, once he was in my head, he refused to leave, and the only reliable method I had of exorcising him was to write him. >_> I need to go write something fluffy to get the taste of this out of my mouth.
> 
> Now that you've made it through this solid wall of angst, go read Blackbird, by ThatOneOctopus. Even as I was writing this, I wanted the other, normal Lupin crew to break through the interdimensional walls and steal this poor Jigen, and she was kind enough to pick up the idea and run with it. I consider Blackbird the fic-canon sequel to this atrocity.
> 
> Update: This fic now has some seriously awesome artwork, by the talented cocoelalaby! Just to rub that angst in even deeper...  
https://cocoelalaby.tumblr.com/post/611777167627567104/the-cyndicate-villain-version-for-fanfiction
> 
> Fujiko going on drunk crafting binges is Quillheart’s awesome idea, and was borrowed with permission.
> 
> “‘Almost’ only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades” is a quote that’s basically a snarkier version of, ‘close but no cigar’ – essentially, that ‘close but not quite’ isn’t good enough. Given that it’s Jigen, the hand grenades part seemed more applicable.
> 
> All three English plurals of ‘octopus’ are technically correct; it all depends on which set of linguistic rules you want to follow, and is a longstanding debate between Boyfriend and I.
> 
> The Spartans encouraged homosexuality and relationships between soldiers for exactly that reason: you’re going to fight with everything you have to keep your lover and your best friend alive, where you might not care as much about a simple coworker/fellow soldier. It probably didn’t hurt that most of Spartan military was made up of young, unmarried, fairly horny men.
> 
> (*) I’ve reproduced the quote here as closely as I could remember it, but I’ve been entirely unable to find it anywhere, so I’m sure I’m misquoting it. If anyone knows which episode it was in or can find it online, please do let me know!


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